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Rass shrugged. "He . . . uh . . . answered my other ad at Mas Diner. Hes just passing through and needed some extra money. "
Just passing through. Mariah tried not to be hurt by the familiar words. She shrugged, wondering what she could say to this boy. He was probably at least fifteen years old; far too old to need a mother or mothering. And yet her instincts were so strong, almost overwhelming. It took all her strength and self-control not to move toward him or offer to wash his clothes. "Oh . . . "
"I-Is that okay with you?" Jake asked.
Mariah looked at the boy, seeing the nervous tensing of his mouth and the way he kept rubbing his palms along his wool pant legs. An aching tenderness unfolded within her. He was alone in the world; somehow she was sure of it. As alone as she and Rass. She wished she could take the pain of that away from him. No one so young should ever be alone or lonely or afraid.
She gave him a soft smile. "Of course its all right. Youre welcome here, Jake. " The words echoed back at her, filled her with desperate longings she thought shed forgotten years ago. She crossed her arms. Her empty, empty arms.
So welcome . . .
He glanced down at the floor. A thick lock of hair fell across his eyes. "Thanks. "
"Here," Rass said, showing him to the table. "Ill set you a place. "
Mariah stared at the boy a moment longer, then forced herself to turn away. Moving stiffly, she went to the stove and added more sausages and potatoes and onions to the pan.
But her hands were shaking and her heart was racing. Between Mad Dogs touch and Jakes presence, she felt frighteningly out of control, as if the world shed spent fifteen years creating had just tilted on its end. And everything she wanted, everything she believed in and had fought for, was slowly, irrevocably sliding into the darkness of the unknown, the unmanageable.
Things were changing too fast. She was feeling things she hadnt felt in a lifetime, and it scared her to death.
God, help me . . .
But this time the words didnt help. She didnt even know what to ask for.
Jake sat at the table, his back stiff, his knees held tightly together. He stared down at his hands, pressed palm-down on his thighs. His heart was hammering so hard, he couldnt hear anything else.
"You been . . . outta . . . long, Jake? Jake?"
He blinked hard and snapped his chin up. Across the table, Rass was peering at him intently, the old mans bushy white eyebrows drawn in a concerned vee above his blue eyes.
"Uh . . . sorry, sir. What did you say?"
Rass smiled. "I didnt say anything. Mariah asked if youd been out this way for long. "
Jake glanced over at the woman. She was standing by the stove, staring at him in the soft, gentle way his mother had. He swallowed hard, feeling a rush of embarrassing emotion. She looked . . . caring. Almost as if he mattered. But that was crazy. "Sorta long. "
"Oh. " She gave him a smile that made his insides feel like they were melting.
He tried t
o think of something else to say, but before he could, someone knocked on the front door.
Jake froze. His fingers coiled into a sweaty ball of nerves. Suddenly he wasnt ready to do this. He wanted to sneak back into the shadows and put off the inevitable.
Mad Dog wouldnt accept a long-lost son, wouldnt care. Jake had no business here. . . .
"Will you get the door, Mariah?" Rass said.
Jakes anxious gaze cut to Mariah; he hoped shed do something to stop Mad Dog from coming in.
For a second he thought she might stop the inevitable. She looked as nervous as he felt. But in the end, she didnt. She smoothed her hands on her wrinkled apron and left the room.
Jake heard the door creak open, then came the rumbling sound of Mad Dogs voice.
Then the woman said something he couldnt hear. Her voice sounded fluttery and nervous—just like Jake felt.
Oh, God, Mama . . . Oh, God . . .
